in the Foreign Service

Ugh:babies, fat, and concrete cleaning

So most of my posts and phone calls and facebook statuses are very upbeat. I do, I really like living here. There are a few things though that I don’t like, so today we are going to explore those.

First of all, if you know me you know I am not going to have children. I REFUSE to procreate. The maternal instinct DNA string somehow got left out of my DNA, leaving me mean and angry towards children. When I tell people I don’t want kids they say, oh you will change your mind in a few years. I decided when I was 12 that I wasn’t having kids. 12 years later, guess what? I still don’t want kids. There is nothing more frustrating that trying to explain why you don’t want children. I think that concept is still so new that people refuse to accept it. I don’t even try here in Ghana because that would be sacrilege or something. So, yeah. I hate kids. Why? They cry, they are snotty, they are rude, they smell, they can’t do anything for themselves, they brush their teeth like they have rabies, they scream, they cry, they cry some more, they disobey their parents, they talk back. I just can’t handle it. I just don’t have that string of DNA to deal with snotty nose brats. And I really hate children’s TV. There is no way in hell I would put up with 18 years of pure sacrifice just so I can say – yay, my DNA is passed on to someone else and when I die there will be someone to carry on the family line. Seriously? NO. I think I have pretty decent DNA, but spending 18+ years in torture isn’t enough for me to spread it on to future generations. Plus, if I had a kid I would probably ship it off to boarding school, leaving it with mommy issues. ANYWAY.

My new neighbor is 5 days old, well his mom is a little older but you get the point. So I get the joy of living with a BABY for the next two years. As you can see above, that makes me so excited. Since I love babies and all. Every morning I wake up either at 2am or 5am to baby screaming. Such a pleasant sound. I don’t really want to wear earplugs for the next 2 years, but that looks like it is the master plan. Also, his mom has the same fake name as me – Jackie (that’s not even her real name either!). So whenever someone yells Jackie, I come out thinking I am getting food (I have been trained well). Nope, they just want mommy. So my options here are thus: move my bed to the other wall and be closer to the all night gospel music and bright light; keep my bed where it is and listen to baby screams everyday; move – yeah right; or just deal with it. Ding ding ding, winner! If I can survive two years of baby screams, I can survive anything. I do have an advantage in my court though, my level of sleepiness here is ridiculous. So when the baby cries at 2am, I fall right back asleep. Unfortunately, if there is any light outside and I am woken up that’s it – I am up. So, here is to hoping little baby cries in the middle of the night. WTF am I saying? Side note: the other Jackie’s mom does not like me and refuses to speak to me. I don’t know what I did to her, but sure makes things awkward. I feel like I have been shunned from the compound. Anytime she is outside, which is always, I can’t talk to the other people in my compound because she gives me these dirty looks. Babies, they ruin everything. I felt really comfortable in my compound until I got my new neighbor, now things are awkward and I don’t feel like part of a family anymore. Sucks. Again, babies ruin everything.

Next topic. Fat. I got it. I don’t want it. I blame chocodelight, and bankou, and the rice, and all the cookies I eat. My appetite here is voracious. I always want to eat. I am always going to my kitchen looking for something to snack on. Luckily, I have fruit, so that helps. I need it to be market day so I can stock up on some veggies. Which, my counterpart and I are going to try shopping together. She will make the stews and I will freeze them for whenever I want them. I will just have to get the necessary kenkey or bankou. Or here is a theory! Eat the stew without the starch loaded ball of pure filler! Wow. I can’t believe I have made this discovery, this changes everything. Anyway, my plan was to eat like thisBreakfast: egg sandwich/bread with peanut butter/bread with cheese and jamLunch: chop – either bankou and gnut soup; rice, salad, and chicken; or waakye. +Fried yams with pepee, which is my new addiction. Gonna get some today. The lady loves me and dashes me like dashing is going out of business. Seriously, the other day I bought 40p worth and she dashed me a good 30p worth. SCORE. Love her. Fried yam lady, we are going to be friends. Okay, back to the list. Dinner: snack of fruits and veggies

So my plan was to have a hearty breakfast, big lunch, and healthy snack for dinner. So far it has been working. Too bad I have been snacking on cookies dipped in chocodelight every other waking hour. I need to start exercising more, I count walking uphill to the center of town as a workout. That is one serious hill. Just coming out of my neighborhood is a steep enough grade to work my calves. If I got a bike, I wouldn’t get anywhere because I would probably just push the bike uphill. I do like to dance in my room, do a little zumba. But mainly I sit on my (now very large) butt. The ghanaians are actually very proud of my toush. I am happy to say that it has lifted quite nicely, but it has also expanded out. Something tells me that unless I lose a lot of weight, no matter how many squats I do, it is going to stay large and in charge.

Here in Ghana being called fat is actually a compliment, great. And guess what? I got called fat. I am so happy, I could just scream!

Next topic. Concrete cleaning. Every since my new neighbor has moved in, her mom has taken it upon herself to clean the concrete outside her room every morning. This includes sweeping with the straw brooms they have here with water. So the sweeping sound is multiplied by the sloshing water sound. And best part? She does it twice. So here is our equation: sweeping = S, water = W. Torture = (SxW)2 What puzzles me is the fact that it does not look any different afterwards. I have seen no difference between prewashed concrete and after washed concrete. Guess what? It is still concrete outside. I think this is just one of those cultural things that will baffle me for all eternity and no explanation will clear anything up. BTW. I think the baby daddy is getting chewed out by the other compound family right now. It is really entertaining. Anyway. I don’t get why the mom has to scrub the concrete, but she cleans my bathroom though, so that’s a plus.

So in conclusion, I hate babies, always have, always will. I am getting fat. And they really do clean the most ridiculous things here. Mom, Dad – I still don’t clean my room. HA. Can’t do anything about it over here! Hahahaha. Sweet revenge.